


Ravensong

by eldritcher



Series: Red Falls The Dew On These Silver Leaves [4]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 06:06:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4008721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldritcher/pseuds/eldritcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Close to, I was fascinated by the healthy glow of her skin. It reminded me of the waxen lotus leaves that were found in abundance on the lake Helevorn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ravensong

Over the trumpets of my host rose a voice urgent and commanding.

“To me! Haldan, child, find your mother! And the rest of you, to me!” 

She was not beautiful by any measure one cared to apply. With the thickset jaw, the work-strengthened limbs and the wind-coarsened brown hair, her body proclaimed what she was: a woman who worked with the men on the fields in sun and rain. Used as I was to the Noldorin precepts of beauty and grace, I found her many flaws and judged her lacking. 

She was viewing my horsemen with suspicion writ across that broad face. I pursed my lips. As a rule, I did not mix with the Sindarin or the Edain. But these people had proved their courage and had earned my civility. Beautiful or not, the woman deserved her due for the valour she had shown that day.

Dismounting and picking my way through the bodies of slain orcs, I made my way to where she stood. Close to, I was fascinated by the healthy glow of her skin. It reminded me of the waxen lotus leaves that were found in abundance on the lake Helevorn. She faced me and narrowed her eyes as I reached her. Her eyes were different from any I had ever seen. Brown they were, no - yellow, I decided, lighter than hazel and glowing gold in the sunlight. 

“Milady, Carnistro Fëanorion at your service.”

“Haleth, daughter of Haldad,” she said. 

Her voice had lost the commanding edge she had earlier used to chivvy her people to safety. Now it was as honey running over fine wood, viscous and of lingering timbre. I frowned at the ridiculous comparison I had made and instead brought my attention to the situation.

“May I see your father then? He led your people well. They did not panic though the odds of victory were not pleasing.”

Her lips trembled for a fraction of an instant. And I noticed that she had very fine lips - thick and full and red.

“My father is yonder,” she said quietly. I looked in the direction her finger pointed and saw a headless corpse. “His head fell into the river.” 

I closed my eyes, fighting off the image of my father burning into ashes that had flown in the northern wind. 

“I must go now. The people need me.” She turned and left me without a word.

I stared at her retreating form for a long moment before shaking my head and returning to my horsemen. I gave them directions to set a watch in case there was another raid and then bade them make camp for the night. I had come hither without preparations for a prolonged campaign. Telpe was in my castle at Thargelion, learning from the Naugrim I held commerce with. I could not leave him there to fend for himself. The lad was rather like my father, with the same bloody naiveté and innocent brilliance. The Naugrim, the cunning folk that they were, might take advantage of his trusting nature.

One night, I decided. I would stay for one night, discuss matters with the new chieftain in the morning, make the offer of relocation to the northern part of Thargelion where I had my fortresses and then be on my way. 

The Haladin, I found to my horror, did not burn or bury their corpses. They simply flung them into the river. The waters in Thargelion were all clean and held medicinal properties. How dared they?

Angry beyond words at this defilement of the clean water, I strode across to their settlement and demanded to see their chieftain.

“We have none,” said the young boy, Haladan, who bore a striking resemblance to the young woman I had spoken with earlier.

“Call someone who is in charge,” I ordered. 

His brown head bobbed up and down in obedience and he ran into the settlement. By the time I heard the wooden clogs approaching me, I had counted three more bodies flung into the river. I was very relieved that I had given my warriors the instructions to burn the corpses of the orcs. I could not bear the thought of those rotting carcasses defiling the water.

“You wanted something?” 

I turned to face the young woman once again. Her eyes that had shined brownish yellow in the sunlight were pale gold in the firelight. 

“Why are you throwing your dead into the river?” I asked bluntly. “If you needed firewood, you could have asked me. I said I would help.”

“We throw the dead into the water. It is the way of our people,” she said with nary a trace of emotion. “The water carries them home.”

“You simply throw the dead into the clean water?” I raged. “Have you any idea of the number of settlements downriver? They use this water for drinking, cooking, bathing and irrigation.”

“We used to build boats for the dead.” She shrugged. “It cannot be done now. But tradition is tradition and we give the dead to the water.”

“I rule upriver. If I throw carcasses into the water, what diseases shall your children die of?”

“Tradition is tradition,” she said, though the undercurrent of will had faded from her tones and she sounded weary. “What would you have me do? I am not their ruler. They listen to me if they see it fit.”

“Dig a well where there are no water currents below,” I said. “Throw your corpses into it.”

She brought a tired hand to the back of her neck and nodded thoughtfully. “What of the day’s corpses already in the water?” she asked worriedly. “Perhaps we should warn those downstream.”

“I had my men drag back the corpses ashore. I will have them dig a pit and bury the bodies en masse.”

“If the Haladin get word of this, they shall not meet you in friendship.”

“All the more reason why you are not telling them,” I replied. “Is there anything I can do? Lands are unsafe in the south. In the north, where I rule, it is safer. I can give you land.”

“We are a free people. We answer to none, and will not call any Lord.”

“The Naugrim call me not Lord. Yet I hold commerce with them. Why then do you think you need call me so?”

“I cannot take a decision for the Haladin.”

“You will think more on it? For the sake of your people?” I offered her a bow. “Now I must go. Before noon tomorrow, I shall leave for the north after setting a perimeter watch here. An answer I would have by then.” 

She nodded and turned to leave. The slumped set of her shoulders gave away her weariness and grief. I felt an uncharacteristic loss of resolve. And I had never lacked for resolve even when dealing with my eldest brother’s near invisible machinations in my affairs.

“Milady,” I called after her. “If you have time to spare, can you show me where the defences failed?”

Her face betrayed relief when she turned to nod in agreement. I offered her my arm, but she did not even deign to voice a refusal. Her wooden clogs fell in step with my boots. I did not speak. I was a reluctant party to idle conversation at the best of times. But here, now, with the cloying smell of death hanging in the air, I could not even bring myself to an attempt at polite conversation.

“We had not expected aid,” she said quietly. 

“I had word from my brother who rules the lands between Gelion. He spoke of enemies breaking the leaguer and disappearing into the Naugrim passes.” 

“The lord of Maglor’s Gap?” she asked. “I do not envy his realm. More than valour is needed to man the lands of Lothlann and Himring.”

“Well, my eldest brother rules in Himring. His riders keep a strong watch on Lothlann and the lands between Gelion are safer than you fear.”

“They breached the fences in the west. We had not expected an attack from that direction. They knew our defences.”

“Traitors?” I asked, troubled. Betrayal was the biggest crime, worse than murder or rape. 

“We are not prosperous.” She shrugged. “It would take less effort than one thinks to lure some of us into betrayal.”

“I find it strange that the Haladin have no leader. It is a dangerous folly in these times.”

“You had leaders to make your folly. At least our follies are our own and not embarked upon for the sake of leaders.”

I frowned. She was wiser than I had reckoned. She knew of our oath and of the many lives martyred for our cause. Before I could reply, she sighed and brought her hands to massage her neck absently.

“What happened?” 

“A blow with the blunt end of an axe.” She smiled wryly. “I think it was one of the Haladin. Some panicked, you see.”

I never did understand why I made the suggestion I did in the next breath.

“I have some skill with poultices. It might grant you a measure of relief.”

She stopped walking and looked at me warily. I decided to spare us the embarrassment of my ridiculous suggestion and opened my mouth to make an inane remark about fences.

“No,” she cut me off. “If you will consent to ply your skill on one as lowborn as I am, then let me consider it a boon.”

“Lowborn?” I enquired. 

“They say that yours is a family who clings to prejudice.”

“I hold commerce with the Naugrim,” I reminded her.

“None of you has taken a wife from the native clans,” she said. “It is tradition to marry into the local population.”

“Not for us,” I said in bewilderment. “Besides, I hardly think that the illustrious lords of Doriath will give their woman in marriage to us. If you know of our oath, you will know of our blood taint.”

She accepted my hand this time as I led her to my camp. Then she said perplexedly, “I did not understand why it would be treated so gravely. Life is precious, I grant, and not ours to take. Yet murder does take place in the Edain clans: avarice, betrayal and revenge. We kill the murderer. But we do not punish his family or children for his sin. So the terms of your curse are not something the Haladin understands.”

“It is not something we understand either,” I said plainly. “Here,” I pointed at the neatly constructed tent we had reached. “This is my tent. Wait within. I will prepare the poultice and join you as soon as I may.”

I obtained the necessary clay and herbs before joining her in my tent. With her drab clothes and the weary expression she wore, she looked out of place among the rich carpets and the soft silks. She was viewing them with curiosity as I walked in.

“You had better leave early,” she said. “My people are in poverty and might turn reckless. I don’t want them to see such finery. Life is difficult as it is.”

“I was used to richer things,” I said frankly. “Fate upturns itself every now and then. Your people will grow and prosper, milady. Perhaps I shall be poor then.”

“I hope not!” The first burble of laughter escaped her lips. “I cannot imagine you in rags and sackclothes. You are,” she scrunched her nose, “born to be rich and foppish.”

“That is one of the best compliments I have heard in my life,” I laughed. I rarely laughed. But this woman had a talent for drawing mirth out of my depths.

“Sit down there,” I instructed her. “Face the fire. I have your poultice.”

“Your poultice smells foul,” she said dubiously, though she seated herself on the footstool I had directed her to. 

“Herbs. Nothing harmful, I promise.” 

With a sigh, she turned and gathered her matted hair into a bun and held it up out of my way. I knelt behind her and gently pressed the poultice to the nape of her neck. She hissed and her spine stiffened. The curls of short hair at the nape sprung up now damp and coiled. I brought my fingers to the warm skin and probed carefully till I found the swelling. When my fingers struck the core of pain, she moved forward out of my reach and cursed in her language.

“You called me a bastard?” I asked in incredulity as I translated the word mentally.

“Just get on with it.”

She was sweet-tempered, this woman of the Haladin. Then again, what had I expected from someone raised amidst tanners, woodcutters and foragers? Artanis and Irissë had been raised amidst princes and yet their manners lacked in more than one aspect. Haleth of the Haladin scored better then.

“Your hands are good with the poultice,” she muttered. “Why are the rich men and women unforgivably talented?”

“I have a lot of experience,” I said shortly. 

“You apprenticed to a healer?” she asked, leaning back into my touch though the poultice had long since cooled and I was wondering why I had not removed my hands.

“A kinsman needed my aid with the poultices.” I quickly killed the vivid images from the past. 

“I am sorry,” she said quietly and I knew it was not an empty platitude.

“We are done,” I said in my blandest voice. “I hope it helped.”

“It did.”

She rose to her feet as I remained kneeling behind her. Then she turned and looked down at me. Her eyes dark in thought, she leant over. Before I knew, my fingers were in her messy bun of hair, my chest flush against her bosom and my tongue driving into her mouth. Her hands were on my neck, on my waist and then provocatively brushing the front of my breeches much to my discomfort. But it reminded me of who we were, and of what we were currently lost to. I could see Father’s appalled face in my mind - never give your body when you cannot give your heart. I pulled away from her heated lips and etched the sight of her heaving form into my memories before breaking the silence.

“Too fast,” I breathed. “Too fast.”

She closed her eyes and took deep breaths before murmuring, “And very foolish of us. I shall leave now, my lord. Thank you for the poultice.”

“What?” I blinked as she rose to her feet and patted down her hair into a semblance of order.

“Good night.”

 

A curt message came to my camp next day, borne by the young boy who was her nephew. She would not accept my offer to take lands in the north. Instead, she would travel north to my cousin’s realm.

“Will you take a reply?” I asked the boy.

He frowned saying, “She asked me not to.”

“It does not matter if she does not care to read it,” I said. “But it may help her all the same.”

“I will wait,” said the boy.

I had never begged anything of anyone. But that day, I wrote a letter to Findaráto begging him to allow her safe passage through his lands. I implored him to have her settle there in a place that she liked. I took off my signet ring and dropped it into the envelope and sealed it shut before giving it to the boy.

 

“You should not drink,” I warned my brother as he poured himself yet another healthy measure of the heady Naugrim ale I had brought along.

“Nor should you,” he reminded me.

“I am not the unwell one,” I said curtly. “Stop it, Maitimo. I am in no mood to endure your philosophy born of drink.”

“You are not unwell, but you are certainly not well,” he answered cheerfully while replenishing my goblet.

“I will not ask you what that meant.” I sighed and took up the goblet. 

“Who is it?” he asked indulgently, throwing his head back against the soft velvet of the chair and letting the moonlight play on his exposed neck. I noticed a few new scars on them. 

“I see you have been risking your limbs again.”

“Not at all,” he replied sincerely and I snorted. “It was a cat that decided to take up residence in the chimney. I was called in to extricate it. I accomplished the task, albeit with some scars of victory.”

“So the Lord of Himring is called in to rescue cats from chimneys now?”

“The other way around, Carnistro. I save chimneys from cats.”

“Drinking does not help your wits, brother.”

“It does not help anyone’s wits, I daresay.”

I made a noncommittal noise in my throat and fell into my thoughts. It was cold here. Was Nargothrond so cold?

“Who is it?” he asked me again.

“For someone who cannot put his affairs in order, you are unnaturally meddlesome.”

“Is he a warrior?” he persisted, unruffled.

“She. It is a she,” I corrected him, affronted. 

“Forgive me,” he brought his hand to his chest dramatically and I threw him a filthy glare. “I had forgotten that the rest of you are not swayed by the male form. I apologise for my many indiscretions.”

“I have nothing against the male form or your appreciation for it,” I said testily. “I simply do not care to see bleeding and abused after your many indiscretions.”

“It comes with the territory of appreciation, brother.”

“No, it does not.” I waved my hand drunkenly in the air. “Father and Nolofinwë appreciated each other without ending up in the state you invariably do. Turkáno and Atarinkë too.”

“I exchanged debauchery for drink,” he said coolly. “Now what do you propose I exchange this vice for?”

“We could always bring your vices to Macalaurë’s notice, I daresay.” I sniffed. “He would be less tolerant than we are.”

“Let us not interrupt his marital bliss with these sordid matters,” he said and a most petulant expression crept onto his dear features. I rolled my eyes and shoved the bottles away before rising to my feet.

“Who was she?” he continued patiently. 

“You are tenacious. I give you that,” I said with a rueful smile. “Haleth of the Haladin. I cannot quantify her even with the aid of Macalaurë’s flowing prose.”

“I knew.” He rose to his feet and cautiously attempted to find his balance. I chuckled and lent him my shoulder. 

“I knew that you would know,” I told him as I steered him towards the royal wiing. “You never could resist meddling. And Findaráto never could keep a secret.”

“You will try to see her?” he asked quietly. “She does not have our life, brother.”

“I know,” I rested my head on his shoulder. “I fear that. If I see her again, I know I cannot deny anything. It would be my undoing. Her lifespan is shorter than even that of the Naugrim.”

“Perhaps you should have loved one of the Naugrim,” my brother suggested with the hint of a smile in his voice. “Silly brother, ride to her. If she is as wise as Findaráto says she is, I know she will not harm your heart.”

“You are wise. Macalaurë is wise. Artanis is wise. Carnilótë is wise. Findekáno, I will say, is not unwise. But that has not stopped the lot of you from giving each other heartache.”

“I went to see him,” he said quietly. “When you told me that he was wounded in that skirmish, I rode to him immediately. But Carnilótë was there. I was reminded of what I had driven him into. I rode back without seeing him.”

I fisted my hand and gently cuffed him muttering, “How long will you wait before giving in?”

“I foolishly dream that one day I would wake to find him with me, and I was still naive and innocent, he could clasp my right hand in his own, and when he professed regard I could give him all that I was and revel in the purity it would be. I dream of a union so hallowed that it would never be blemished by man and God.”

“My dearest brother,” I began in pity.

“No,” he cut me off, his grey eyes shining earnestly. “My dream can never be. But yours can come true. Ride to her. Make your happiness.”

 

So I rode into my cousin’s realm and sought her.

“She lives in Brethil,” Findaráto told me. “I did my best to make her stay in Nargothrond. But she is a wilful woman, cousin.”

“Brethil?” I asked, in rising despair. “She went where I cannot follow her!”

“I think that might have been her cause,” he sighed. “Her people wanted to stay in Nargothrond. But she would not hear of it. She braved the dark passes of the Dorthonion and reached Brethil.”

Brethil was in the realm of Elwë Singollo. He would not allow a son of my father entry into his lands. 

“Listen.” Findaráto clasped my shoulders. “The Girdle of Melyanna does not encompass Brethil, cousin. All you need do is to evade the patrols of Doriath. It is a fortnight’s journey. I will accompany you in case you are intercepted by one of their patrols.”

“Who is Singollo’s liegeman there?” I asked quietly.

“Prince Celeborn.” Findaráto pursed his lips. “He is an unyielding one, Singollo’s favour or no. Let us hope that we are not caught by him.”

“You are not coming,” I said firmly. “Your kingdom needs you.”

“Orodeth can manage,” he said lightly. “Let him be of some use, cousin.”

“I dislike your nephew.”

“I profess no great love to him,” Findaráto winked. “Come now, Carnistro, Brethil awaits us.”

 

Findaráto was suspiciously in his element in those woods. He knew every path and brook. Perhaps the tales of his liaison with Luthien had some substance. I had asked him often, only to be met with a vague smile that reminded me of my infuriating eldest brother. As Macalaurë so often caustically remarked, never fall in love with a diplomat.

“Who goes there?”

It was Mablung, whom I had met during the great feast Nolofinwë had held. He recognised us instantly and came to greet us with a jaunty smile. He looked as handsome as ever and I was not surprised to find Findaráto’s eyes raking our host’s body.

“My prince,” Mablung began amusedly, “The King shall not be happy to see your attentions directed elsewhere.”

“My attentions firmly remain where they ought to be,” Findaráto said with a wistful glance west where was Menegroth located. “We are on our way to Brethil.”

“The Queen told me that you would come,” Mablung replied. “We conspired with Thalion to engage Prince Celeborn in a trade meeting on the eastern reaches.”

“Very manipulative,” Findaráto murmured. “I approve, of course. My temper has never been improved after a meeting with the handsome braggart.”

“Someone who grates even on your nerves?” I enquired in wonder. “Then he truly must be insufferable.”

“He is.” Findaráto sniffed disapprovingly. “Remain ever grateful that you are spared the curse of his acquaintance.”

 

Brethil was a land that did not allow those who worked it to prosper. Yet she had led her people there, seeking to escape what she had seen in me. Findaráto and Mablung fell behind to discuss affairs at Menegroth. I went on, riding slowly through the bushy terrain, wondering what she would say or do when she saw me. 

My horse meandered its way to a small algae covered pond. I smelled the alkaline scent of soap nut. They must be using it for bathing and washing. I hoped they did not indulge in their tradition of throwing corpses into the water. Singollo, for one, would not be pleased.

A startled cry jerked me out of my thoughts and I saw her seated naked on a large boulder by the pondside, a comb held limply in one hand and the other hand raised to cover her breasts. I had forgotten the bronzed tint of her skin in the sun. I had forgotten the golden sparkle in her eyes. I had forgotten the suppleness of her body. She drew her legs up to preserve her modesty and I bit down on my lips. Blood seared its way to my heart and I spurred my horse on, cantering to her and swooping down to draw her petrified body into my arms. The horse continued its gallop and she cried out again as my fingers dug into her waist. 

“We are not stopping,” I told her hoarsely.

She met my questing lips and straddled me clumsily, throwing her arms about my neck for purchase. I dug in my heels to bring the horse to a slower trot and she jerked as the rough leather rubbed against her sensitive thighs. I smiled and parted her legs wider, so that the saddle now rubbed against the petals of her womanhood. 

“Caranthir!” she screamed, her head sinking down to my breast as the movement of the horse stimulated her juices.

We had reached a lush meadow. I murmured my command to my mount and it halted. Swiftly, I unseated us and we toppled over to the grass carpet with her atop me. Her eyes were dilated in arousal and her lower body jerking spasmodically as she fought the collapse. I dragged her up my chest until she was straddling my face and then I brought my mouth to her wet womanhood. Her nails dug into my cheeks as she screamed out her orgasm, riding my tongue frantically till the end when she collapsed limply upon me, a warm, heavy weight of satiated pleasure.

“You wanton prince!” she chided me as soon as she caught her breath. “Someone might have seen!”

“You had no such compunction years ago,” I breathed. “You should do better to heed your words when you call me wanton next time. I have never seen a woman rubbing against a saddle, of all things.”

The blush intensified on her bronzed cheeks and she laughed, a low gurgle that stirred my heart. Then she pushed herself up and brought her fingers to the seams of my breeches.

“It is your turn to scream,” she told me before drawing down my breeches and smoothly ensconcing my manhood in her wet canal. 

The grass pricked my bare skin on one side and her heat burned me on the other. I howled and thrust up, losing control and all pretence of it, letting her guide me as she saw fit. She was cruel, denying me the release I craved for a long, languid ride that had her breasts filled out and her nipples engorged. I closed my eyes, unable to bear the beauty of the sight and threw my head back, trying to steer myself to abandon. She laughed and idly brought a finger to scratch my scrotum, earning yet another howl from as I was stimulated past all restraint and my body gave into the inevitable.

“How you howl!” she breathed. “Of us, you are the wanton, milord.”

“Only for you,” I said quietly, bringing her fingers to my heart. They were stained with my release and I tried to wipe it off. But she would have none of it. Instead, she brought her fingers to her lips and licked the stain off. My breath caught and she straddled me again before repeating my words with the sunrays washing her into a living bronze sculpture.

“Only for you.”


End file.
